


Room for One

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Case Details, Daddy Kink, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Man, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: "We actually had a cancellation this morning so I actually have a room available. But just one. And it's a little more expensive than the rooms you were in before."Malcolm looks back to Gil who shrugs and says, "We'll take it. I'll call around nearby inns and see about getting another room.""Oh, I wouldn't hold your breath on that. Our rooms are booked up to a year in advance for the festival, and so are everyone else's,"
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64





	Room for One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ponderosa (ponderosa121)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/gifts).



> Pond, I wrote this for your birthday and then chickened out on posting it. Better late than never?
> 
> I hope your birthday was great!

"Hi there," Malcolm says with a smile to the petite redhead behind the counter, "We're checking out. Rooms six and eight."

The woman — Vicky, according to the plastic name badge on her shirt — smiles kindly at him as he hands over the two keys (actual keys!) to their rooms. "Sure thing Mr. Bright," she says, glancing down and blushing when she accidentally meets his eye. "I hope you and your...father? enjoyed your stay with us."

A startled laugh bursts from deep in Malcolm's belly at Gil's decidedly unimpressed look where he's standing next to Malcolm at the front desk, ready to hit the road. Their bags are resting at their feet between them and all that's left is to get a receipt for their stay to charge to their expense reports.

As the poor girl blushes and stammers and excuses herself to go and print them up a copy of their invoice, Malcolm claps a hand on Gil's back and says, "I suppose it could be worse. At least she didn't assume you were my sugar daddy this time."

That had happened once before, on an undercover mission, and while it had entertained Malcolm to no end ("Honestly, I think it would be more fitting that I'd be the sugar daddy in this relationship," Malcolm had quipped), Gil looks even less impressed now than he had then.

The attempt to cheer him up fails to draw a smile, but Malcolm would swear he can see a twinkle in Gil's eye, regardless. He still gives the desk clerk a scathing look when she comes back, but Malcolm can tell his heart isn't in it.

"Here you go Mr. Bright, Mr. Arroyo," Vicky says quietly as she hands over their receipts, refusing to meet either of their eyes.

"Vicky," Malcolm says, waiting until she looks up before flashing one of his thousand-watt smiles at her, "Thank you. My friend and I both had a lovely stay here."

It nets him a shy smile from Vicky and a discreet eye roll from Gil and Malcolm counts the whole thing as a win as he takes the papers and folds them in three to slip in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Drive safe, now!" Vicky calls out as they head to the door, Gil with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and Malcolm rolling his bag behind him.  
Malcolm is pleased to note that she sounds much more like her usual perky and chipper self once again.

He pauses at the door, turning to wave goodbye, while Gil offers a halfhearted wave over his shoulder as he pushes open the antique carved-oak door. Even before Malcolm steps foot outside, he's squinting against the glare of the blindingly bright summer sun.

There's not a cloud in the sky, though the blazing sun is kept from feeling too oppressive by the cool breeze, blowing just enough to catch the edge of the flag that hangs above the front porch of the quaint little B&B. The day really couldn't be more perfect and Malcolm is actually looking forward to the car ride back to the city.

As he quick-steps to catch up with Gil, Malcolm can't help but smile as Gil shifts the duffle on his shoulder and mutters under his breath, "Drive safe, now."

"She seems like a sweet girl," Malcolm says as they walk the small walkway to the car. "Pretty sure she didn't mean anything by it." 

It's not like Gil to take umbrage at a harmless comment about his age or the nature of their relationship, so Malcolm isn't quite sure why Gil seems so offended by Vicky's assumption that Gil was Malcolm's father. It's certainly not the first time someone has made that mistake (growing up, Malcolm often wished it were true when someone thought he was Gil's son. Wished that he'd never known Martin Whitly and had grown up with Gil's unconditional love and support instead) and Gil has never bristled at that misconception before.

Try as he might, Malcolm can't quite convince himself that it doesn't sting, just a little, that Gil seems so annoyed now.

"You know, you're right, kid," Gil says, pulling his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and settling them on his face. "She does seem like a nice girl. And she clearly had a thing for you."

Malcolm can't pretend he didn't notice the girl's obvious crush on him, but he's not quite sure where Gil is going with this. He shoots the man a questioning look as they walk up to the car and Gil unlocks the trunk, popping it open and dropping his duffle bag in. Malcolm would swear he hears Gil suck in a fortifying breath just before he turns to face Malcolm.

"I just mean that there are plenty of young, attractive women out there that would be lucky to have a relationship with a good-looking, bright young man like yourself," Gil says. With the dark sunglasses on, Malcolm can't make out Gil's expression, can't even tell if the man is even looking at him. 

He also has no idea where this is coming from.

"What?" Malcolm says, trying to wrap his head around what is happening. "She couldn't have been older than twenty, Gil."

Which, admittedly, is not even his biggest objection to the suggestion. It's just the first one he could reasonably put forward without admitting anything best kept hidden.

"I don't just mean Vicky, Bright," Gil sighs and scrubs a hand over his goatee. "It's just. It's been a while since you've dated anyone." 

Gil delicately avoids touching on his last relationship. It's been more than six months since Eve was murdered, but the entire situation is still a bit of a sore spot, tied up as it all was with Nicholas Endicott and everything that happened afterwards. 

It's not that he's not ready to move on, it's just that there's only been one person he's interested in moving on _with_ , and that's not really an option.

"If you put yourself out there again, I bet the ladies would be beating down your door," Gil finishes with an awkward shrug.

"The…'ladies'...aren't really my—" Malcolm is saved from finding a way to finish that sentence when Gil's phone trills loudly in his pocket.

"Arroyo," Gil answers the phone and Malcolm takes advantage of the unexpected but entirely welcome break to center his thoughts and load his bag into the trunk.

Gil meanders through the small parking lot as he carries on his conversation, so Malcolm props himself on the back of the open trunk and looks out over the beautiful scenery surrounding them. The B&B they'd been staying at is set a little ways back from the road, surrounded by towering trees that give the impression that they're in the middle of nowhere, secluded and tucked away from the rest of the world. Unlike the concrete jungle of Manhattan, Lake George is lush and green and stunningly in bloom this time of the year. Even though it was for a case, Malcolm is glad they got to visit for a couple of nights.

And from the look on Gil's face as he heads back towards the car, they might not be heading back just yet.

"That was the Warren County Sheriff's Office," Gil says, all of the awkwardness from only moments ago vanished in the presence of the job. "Looks like our killer may just have an accomplice."

They've been working jointly with the Sheriff's office for weeks now, trying to catch an elusive killer with obvious ties to the Lake George area. As their investigation came to a head, Malcolm and Gil drove the three-and-a-half hours out to the small town to hunt down a lead. It led to an arrest late last night — or, rather, early this morning — and Malcolm and Gil intended to hit the road, leaving the collar with the local Sheriff's office, rather than the NYPD taking the credit.

Malcolm stands up, eyebrows furrowing as he does a quick mental recitation of the case facts to see where he might have gone wrong with his profile. The evidence, his profile, never pointed to an accomplice.

"What makes them think there's an accomplice?" he asks, wondering if, perhaps, the local officers have made a mistake.

"Another body just dropped," Gil grimaces and tucks his phone back into his pocket. "Deputy Miller was called out to a body found not far from the Fort about a half hour ago. Matches our killer's MO."

Malcolm paces back and forth behind the car, as he thinks it over. It doesn't make sense. Nothing in the details of the case suggested they were hunting for a duo. 

"Maybe DaSilva killed one final victim before we caught him last night," Malcolm reasons, stopping in front of Gil, but Gil shakes his head before Malcolm even finishes the thought. 

"Body was still warm when Deputy Miller got there. Preliminary time of death is sometime within the last two hours."

"I don't understand." Malcolm runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it as he tries to work out how he could have missed something so vital. "Gil, there's no evidence to support the idea that DaSilva had an accomplice."

"I don't know what to tell you, Bright," Gil reaches over and slams the trunk closed, "but Miller is requesting we come out to the crime scene and take a look before we leave."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Malcolm says absently. He walks to the passenger side and opens the door, settling himself in and even buckling up without really thinking about the movement.

Gil follows suit and drops into the driver's seat, weighing his keys in his hand and running his thumb along the lucky rabbit's foot before he starts the car. Prior to backing out of the spot, though, he reaches across the seat and gives Malcolm's shoulder a squeeze.

"Kid, whatever happened, whatever we find out when we get there, this wasn't your fault," Gil says quietly.

Malcolm would love to believe that. But if DaSilva really did have a partner, Malcolm should have known. If he'd picked up on it sooner, they could have been hunting for both killers all this time. They could have caught the accomplice and saved this latest victim.

He tries to offer a reassuring smile to Gil but it settles brittle and clumsy on his face and he knows it.

Gil lets it slide. For now. But Malcolm has a feeling they'll be talking about it later. 

The drive to the Fort William Henry Museum & Restoration is nearly silent, though Gil does throw on a cassette tape to fill the space with something other than the strained silence, keeping the volume low enough that it doesn't interfere with Malcolm's thought process.

Malcolm was already a little thrown off by Gil's behaviour as they were checking out of the B&B, but to find out that his profile had overlooked such a crucial aspect has left him running circles in his head. He does his best to ignore how he feels and focus on the case, but it's more of a struggle than he'd care to admit.

Fortunately, he doesn't have long to ruminate on his shortcomings. They're at the crime scene in short order and Deputy Miller is waiting outside to greet them.

"Lieutenant. Mr. Bright," Miller nods to each of them in turn and then gestures to the thicket of trees behind him, on the other side of the parking lot from the Fort. "The body is just over here."

Deputy Miller is a sturdy man, closer to Malcolm's age than Gil's, but with an air of authority to him that makes him appear much older. Malcolm wasn't at all surprised to find out that the man is an army veteran. He has the same bearing as JT, the same solemn demeanour, too, though Deputy Miller is a little leaner and smiles just a little easier when the occasion permits it.

"Vic was found by one of the Fort workers that was walking the grounds before their shift," he explains as they walk. The body is maybe thirty feet into the treeline so it doesn't take long to get there.

It takes even less time to realize that this is definitely the work of their killer.

The scene is gruesome in a way that even makes Malcolm cringe, and he's _seen_ things. Horrible things. But there's an excessive amount of blood and internal organs scattered about the scene and his nose wrinkles up as he examines the area. 

There's no mistaking the MO.

They don't stay long at the scene — there's nothing they can do for the victim now, and the evidence is such a mess that it needs to be catalogued before he'll be able to make much sense of it anyways — and Gil leads the way back to the car, taking a breather before they make their next move.

"We need to call JT and Powell. Let them know we'll be staying out here a little longer and that we need to go over all of the case files from the beginning, looking for anything that might indicate the identity of DaSilva's partner," Gil says, leaning against the door and looking towards the bustle of police activity at the treeline. 

It's a small town and the murder is bound to be big news. Malcolm would be willing to bet nearly the entire police force will make its way out to the crime scene at some point in the next few hours, which, to be fair, isn't a substantial number of officers.

"I'd like to speak to DaSilva again," Malcolm says after a moment of watching the comings and goings around the scene, noticing the way the onlookers tend to gravitate towards the taped off area for a better look at what's going on. "See if we can get him to turn on his partner or at least gives us enough information that we can identify them ourselves."

At Gil's nod, they both get back in the car. This time, the drive is filled with discussion about the crime scene, about who the hell could have possibly done it when all signs pointed to DaSilva working alone. Their suspect is the epitome of antisocial and Malcolm can't wrap his head around the idea of him working with a partner.

Unfortunately, their interview with DaSilva — who is still being held at the Sheriff's office — nets them no new information. The only thing Malcolm has to work with is the fact that, while the man was uncooperative before today's murder, as soon as he heard about the new body, he completely clamed up.

"He's protecting someone," Malcolm states firmly as they walk out of the station. There's so much of this case that is confusing him right now, but of this, Malcolm is certain. "We need to dig through DaSilva's life again. Friends, family, perhaps even an online acquaintance."

"Guess we're staying another night?" Gil says as he walks up to the car and leans his forearms on the roof, looking over to Malcolm.

Malcolm nods and looks up at the man, ignoring the way the sun highlights the salt in his salt-and-pepper goatee, making it glimmer in the light. "Um. Yeah. I'd like to stay nearby to question DaSilva again, if necessary." Sometimes, what a suspect doesn't say can be more important than what he does. If they discover more information about the accomplice, Malcolm may be able to provoke a reaction from DaSilva with it. "Besides, our killer is out here right now. We need to find them before they find another victim."

"Back to the B&B then." Gil's smile has a strained edge that Malcolm can't make heads or tails of, but before he can dwell on it, Gil is dropping into the driver's seat and the engine roars to life.

Malcolm shakes off the strange feeling and gets in, and before he knows it, they're back at the check in desk at the B&B, their bags between them in a mirror of how they were only hours ago. Malcolm dings the 'ring for service' bell and Vicky comes bouncing from the back a moment later. 

"Mr. Bright!" She's clearly delighted to see him again and Malcolm smiles warmly at her enthusiasm. She reminds him a little of Edrisa, with her infectious enthusiasm and somewhat awkwardly obvious crush. "Did you forget something?"

"Hi, Vicky. Uh, no. We'd actually like to check back in. It looks like business is going to keep us here a little longer than expected," Malcolm shrugs and waves a hand in a what-are-you-gonna-do sort of way. They never mentioned they were police and he'd like to keep it that way if possible. Fortunately, Vicky doesn't ask what kind of business they're here for.

Unfortunately, it's because there's a slight problem with their plan of staying another night.

"Oh. I'm really sorry Mr. Bright," Vicky says, and she really does look genuinely sorry. "I'm pretty sure we're booked solid for the next two nights." She turns her attention to the computer at the desk, her fingers clacking the keys as she explains. "It's the Adirondack Wine & Food Festival this weekend. It's the busiest time of year here."

Malcolm vaguely recalls seeing signs up around town the last few days, but he honestly didn't pay them any mind.

"If you have a chance to check it out, you totally should!" Vicky exclaims as she types. "There are vendors set up from New York's finest wineries, breweries and distilleries, along with food trucks, artisan food vendors and a farmer's market of crafts and various enticing treats." It sounds like she's reciting from a pamphlet and Malcolm wouldn't be surprised if she's given the same spiel a hundred times before. "It takes place at the Lake, so it makes for a beautiful day out, and I'd be more than happy to show you around if—hmm."

Vicky pauses and performs a series of clicks and taps on her computer. Malcolm takes the opportunity to look at Gil, who is standing impassively at the desk, his features an unreadable mask. 

"Well, this is sort of a good news/bad news situation," Vicky says, looking up at Malcolm with a sympathetic smile that he's sure she's also given hundreds of times. "We actually had a cancellation this morning so I actually have a room available. But just one. And it's a little more expensive than the rooms you were in before."

Malcolm looks back to Gil who shrugs and says, "We'll take it. I'll call around nearby inns and see about getting another room."

"Oh, I wouldn't hold your breath on that. Our rooms are booked up to a year in advance for the festival, and so are everyone else's," Vicky says seriously. This festival is clearly a big deal and a source of pride for the residents. "The fact that this room became available is, like, shocking."

Gil shoots her a tight smile and says, "I'll still call around."

Vicky shrugs and checks them in, handing over the key to room two and directing them down the hall and to the left. With a quiet thank you to Vicky, Malcolm and Gil grab their bags and head to the room. They have some research to do before they head back to work with the Deputy on the evidence from the latest crime scene, and they need to update JT and Dani on the newest victim and their theory of an accomplice.

Malcolm opens the door and gestures for Gil to go through, then nearly walks into him when the man abruptly stops only a few steps in.

"What—" the question dies on Malcolm's lips as he looks up.

There are towel-art swans on the king-sized bed, their heads forming a very noticeable heart in the negative space between them as they float on a sea of rose petals. The giant jacuzzi soaker tub in the corner of the room is sprinkled with even more rose petals around the edges, and a handful more surround the bottle of champagne and two flutes on the small table in front of the sofa.

Everything combined makes for a stunningly romantic — if not a little kitschy — feel to the room, and Malcolm's stomach flutters a little, despite his best efforts to remember that this room wasn't actually set up for them.

"Of course," Gil mutters as he walks further into the room, dropping his duffle bag on the sofa. "I'll call the team and fill them in, you call local hotels and B&Bs and see if anyone has another room available."

Malcolm is still a little thrown and doesn't quite trust his voice, so he just nods and pulls out his laptop and phone, searching nearby hotels, motels, B&Bs, even a few VRBOs. Every single one of them is fully booked for the next two nights.

Apparently Vicky wasn't kidding about the Festival being a big deal.

Gil finishes updating the team long before Malcolm finishes with his final phone call, but he's on the phone with Deputy Miller getting an update on where they're at with the crime scene when Malcolm hangs up with a sigh. When Gil finally finishes, he looks to Malcolm and says, "The majority of the scene is processed. He'd like us to come back to the Sheriff's office in about a half hour for the briefing he's giving his team. Any luck with the hotels?"

"Uh. No. Everyone told me the same thing Vicky did, but also helpfully suggested I check out the Festival while I'm here," he says with a shrug. He can't bring himself to be too upset. "It's fine though, it's not like I sleep much anyways. You can take the bed."

Gil shoots him an indecipherable look and pushes to his feet. "We'll figure it out later, kid. Let's get a move on."

The rest of their day is spent at the Sheriff's office, coordinating with both the local law enforcement as well as the team back in the city, going through case notes and evidence, searching for any clue as to their elusive second killer.

They find nothing.

Even going through the evidence a second time _knowing_ that there's an accomplice doesn't change Bright's profile or his opinion that the crimes were committed by a single perpetrator — Abel DaSilva.

By just after nine, Malcolm is pacing the small conference room that's been dedicated to the case, tugging at his hair and getting absolutely nowhere. He's hardly even aware of the fact that most everyone has gone home for the night and completely misses the worried look that Miller shoots Gil before he leaves to go top up his tea. He's never entirely _unaware_ of Gil's presence, but it's not until the man steps in front of him, effectively halting his pacing that he really pays attention to him.

Gil looks exhausted.

It's been a hectic few days of late nights and early mornings, all culminating in a foot chase and a very physical take down of their suspect last night. While running on less than four hours of sleep a night is standard practice for Malcolm, he forgets sometimes that not everyone feels the same.

"We should head back to the B&B," Malcolm says abruptly. He can obsess about the details of the case just as well there as he can here. But at least Gil can get a solid eight hours of sleep if they leave now.

The response seems to be the opposite of what Gil was expecting and his eyes go wide, eyebrows chasing his hairline. "I was just about to suggest that," he says, then chuckles softly, "I'll be honest, Bright, I was expecting some resistance."

Malcolm grins at the reaction. "Need to keep you on your toes or I'm not doing my job," he shrugs lightly. He knows Gil well enough to not point out that he looks like he's about to drop and clearly needs a few hours (more than a few hours, really) of sleep.

They let Miller know they're heading out, and the Deputy takes the opportunity to call it a night himself, walking out with them to the parking lot. They bid each other good night, knowing they'll be meeting once again shortly after sunrise, hoping a few hours away will give them the ability to look at the case from another angle; an angle that helps them find something useful to break the case.

Malcolm, though, uses the car ride as an opportunity to talk out some of the more salient points of their case, losing himself once again in the details that just don't add up, so that by the time they get back to the B&B, he's completely forgotten about their cohabitation situation.

It's not until they're walking down the hall that he remembers and his exposition on antisocial personality disorder in serial killers sort of trails off into the ether, causing Gil to turn to face him with an arched eyebrow at Malcolm's sudden and entirely unexpected silence.

"You good, kid?" Gil's exhaustion is immediately replaced by concern.

"Yeah," Malcolm hurries to say with an overly wide smile. "Perfect. Never been better. Just, uh. Thinking about the case. About...the newest scene. It seemed, um, bloodier than the earlier crime scenes. I was just considering possible reasons for the variance."

"And?" Gil nods once and then turns back to the door, slipping the key in the lock and pushing the door open.

"And what?" Malcolm asks, having lost the thread of the conversation just a little.

"And what are the possible reasons for the variance?" Gil sounds amused more than anything but Malcolm still forces himself to get back on track.

"There are a few possibilities, but I need to think on it a little more," Malcolm hedges. He heads directly to the sofa, setting up his laptop on the coffee table in front of him and pulling up the crime scene photos. 

Gil closes the door behind them and flips the latch, locking them in for the evening. Then he comes over to the sofa and drops down with a sigh, leaning his head against the cushion while he kicks one foot at a time up onto the coffee table next to Malcolm's computer.

"You're not planning on working all night, are you?" Gil asks around a yawn and Malcolm looks over to find him with his eyes closed and his hands laced together, resting lightly on his stomach.

That's exactly what Malcolm is planning. 

It's bad enough that he needs to share a room (and not just any room, his traitorous heart reminds him; the honeymoon suite) with the man he's had feelings for since he was in high school. Hiding his feelings is easy enough when they're working and he has something to focus on, but when Gil is relaxed and peaceful and beautiful like this, and they don't have a whiteboard full of gruesome crime scene photos to draw his attention away from the flutter that seems to spread from his chest down to his belly, it gets progressively more difficult. 

Beyond that, he can't risk sleeping in the same room as someone when he's not restrained. Last time he did that was an unmitigated disaster. But he also can't risk Gil thinking less of him by actually seeing just how broken he is when he pulls out his restraints. He's sure Dani gave Gil a rundown of what happened that night she took him home from the precinct and helped strap him into his bed, but knowing something conceptually and actually seeing physical proof of it are two very different things.

A part of him knows it's ridiculous. Gil has never, not once, looked at him like he was broken.

Ever. 

But it would shatter him to see the same look in Gil's eyes that he's seen in so many others throughout the years. People that he'd tried to let in who sneered in his face or slowly disappeared from his life when they got close enough to see who he really is.

"I'm sure I'll manage a few hours." Malcolm focuses his attention on the bloody kidney amongst a patch of Pink Lady's Slippers flowers on his computer screen so that he doesn't need to look him in the eye as he lies. "You should sleep Gil. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Gil hums his agreement but makes no move to get up and head to the bed (cleared of rose petals and adoring swans, as per their earlier request at the front desk). Instead his breathing becomes slower, deeper, as he slips into sleep on the sofa.

Malcolm chuckles to himself; the man is as obstinate now as he was when Jackie used to nudge him in the ribs whenever he'd fall asleep during movie night. She'd tell him to just go to bed, and he'd say he was awake and watching the movie, and then promptly fall back asleep. Jackie and Malcolm would finish the movie together and then tease Gil mercilessly the next day when he had no memory of the ending.

Malcolm works for maybe an hour before a small shiver shakes Gil's body and Malcolm gives his arm a gentle shake. 

"Gil," Malcolm says quietly. "Gil, the bed is going to be much more comfortable."

Gil's eyes flicker open and he stretches his arms above his head. "You're probably right." He rummages through his duffle bag before pushing to his feet, a pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt in his hand. "I'll wash up real quick and then the bathroom is all yours."

Malcolm keeps his focus on the computer screen while he listens to the water run in the bathroom, but knowing Gil is on the other side of that door, changing, getting ready for bed, certainly makes it difficult.

"Alright, kid. It's all yours," Gil says as he pads out of the bathroom in his navy blue drawstring pyjama pants and light grey t-shirt. He goes directly to the bed, turning down the blankets and sitting on the edge. "Promise me you'll at least try to sleep."

"Sure thing," Malcolm smiles and settles back on the sofa with his computer on his lap. "I just want to run through the details one more time, see if I can't find what we're missing."

"Mmmhmm." Gil's lips twitch into the type of amused smirk that's always made Malcolm's breath catch in his throat. Like he sees Malcolm, really _sees_ him, and is somehow still fond of him. 

"Look, the bed is big enough for the both of us," Gil says as he swings his legs up and gets himself situated in the bed, puffing up his pillow and shifting a few times before he gets comfortable enough to settle down. "I know it's not ideal, but you really do need to sleep."

The problem isn't that he doesn't want to share a bed with Gil; it's that he _does_. But he wants so much more than that and he's worried that climbing in that bed would be the step out of line that sets off a rock slide of emotions. One small decision that makes all his feelings come tumbling out.

And he can't afford that.

"I know, Gil. Thank you," Malcolm says honestly. He doesn't let his eyes linger long — Gil looking all soft and relaxed in bed is just a little too much to deal with at the moment — before he turns back to his computer, but not before reaching over and turning off the lamp that's illuminating the room in a soft yellow glow. "Goodnight."

"Night, kid," Gil murmurs, already half asleep.

Malcolm envies the ease with which Gil finds sleep. He's glad that slumber doesn't elude the man like it does him, he just wishes he knew what it felt like to crawl into bed and just...fall asleep. It's been over twenty years since he experienced that.

It doesn't take long for Malcolm to lose himself in the details of their case, Gil's soft snores providing a sort of white noise that seems to help his concentration. He reviews every detail of every crime scene, digs into Abel's life to look for acquaintances that might be capable of committing these murders, throws his profile out the window and starts fresh with all the clues in front of him.

It's sometime after 3:30 that he starts to doze off without really even noticing. It's not like he needs a lot of sleep to function, but he does still require some and the last few nights have been pretty sleepless. With Gil's even breathing filling the space in a nearly hypnotic rhythm, it's no surprise when his eyelids begin to droop, when his head begins to nod down to his chest.

It's also no surprise when he wakes up with a shout that devolves into panting, terrified whimpers, sending his computer clattering to the floor as he scrambles to get away from the spectres that haunt his dreams.

"Bright!" Gil's voice, flooded with concern, is the splash of cold water he needs to fully wake up."Kid, you okay?"

As the terror fades, embarrassment settles heavy on his shoulders. He's wedged between the sofa and the end table, his knees tucked to his chest like a terrified child, while Gil is crouched down in front of him with deep ridges of worry painting his face.

Malcolm can see, clear as day, that Gil is aching to reach out and cup a hand on the back of his neck, to comfort him the way he has since he was just a little kid, and the fact that he's holding himself back makes Malcolm question whether or not he's just altered things between them irrevocably.

"Gil." The word sticks in Malcolm's mouth, desert dry, even with the tang of blood that sits heavy on his tongue. Going without his night guard is never a good idea. "I'm sorry."

It's either the right answer or a very, very wrong one, because Gil's face consorts in a way that Malcolm can't quite decipher in the dimly lit room, but he does reach out to lay his hand on the nape of Malcolm's neck and tugs him forward into a tight hug that drains the last of the tension from Malcolm's body.

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Bright," Gil whispers against his hair, so sincere that Malcolm almost believes him.

They stay like that for several minutes, curled on the floor with Malcolm wrapped up in Gil's arms, until Malcolm's breathing returns to normal from the quick pants they'd started with. Only when Malcolm can suck in a full breath does Gil shift himself back, giving Malcolm some space.

Malcolm immediately misses the warmth of the embrace, the feel of Gil's strong arms holding him together. 

"You wanna talk about it?" Gil asks, knowing full well what the answer will be.

"No. Thank you, though," Malcolm says quietly, following Gil's lead in pushing off the floor, even accepting the man's hand when he holds it out to help him up. He's still a little shaky, still sloughing off the remains of his nightmare as Gil grabs Malcolm's laptop from the floor and sets it back on the table.

It's only as Gil turns on the lamp in the corner that Malcolm notices the small signs of just how disruptive his nightmare had been. The bedside lamp is on, but the alarm clock and information pamphlets about the B&B and local activities are scattered on the floor, clearly knocked over in Gil's haste to get a light on and see what was happening. 

On Malcolm's side of the room, the coffee table is out of place and the dull ache in his shin tells him that the relocation of that particular piece of furniture was his own doing, not Gil's. A few of the throw pillows are scattered on the ground as well, though Gil picks those up along with Malcolm's laptop, setting them to rights on the sofa before turning to face Malcolm.

"Don't suppose you'll be going back to sleep anytime soon?" Gil blinks hard and scrubs a hand over his face. Malcolm can practically see the adrenaline fading from his veins, shoulders slouching and exhaustion settling in.

"Uh, no, sorry," Malcolm attempts an apologetic smile but it feels a little flimsy on his face and, if the tight-lipped glance Gil gives him in return is any indication, it looks a little flimsy, too. With a half-hearted shrug, Malcolm says, "On the bright side, that means I won't wake you up with another nightmare. You should go back to bed, Gil. I'm sorry I woke you."

"I meant it when I said you have nothing to apologize for."

It's clear Gil means it, but his gaze lands so heavy on Malcolm that he needs to look away, turning his attention to moving the coffee table back to its rightful place, settling the legs in the small divots in the soft area rug.

"Have you found anything of interest?" Gil drops himself heavily onto the couch and Malcolm spins to look him over, curious as to why he's not just going back to bed. Instead of answering, Gil merely nods to the computer on the table and waits for Malcolm to sit.

Malcolm sits, leaving a healthy amount of space between them, then grabs his computer and settles it on his lap. When he starts pulling up crime scene photos of note, he sees that it's 4:47 in the morning and feels a twinge of guilt for interrupting Gil's much needed sleep.

"You could still get a bit of sleep, you know," Malcolm offers. The bags under Gil's eyes tell a clear story of not enough sleep and Malcolm hates that he's added to it.

"So could you," Gil says, leveling Malcolm with a look that's almost a dare. _I will if you will._

Malcolm can't. Especially now.

Gil shoots him a sad smile but then turns his attention to the screen, letting Malcolm off the hook as he says, "Okay, where are we with our unknown accomplice."

Malcolm shakes off the events of the night and turns his full attention back to the case, diving in headfirst like he always does.

"This latest crime scene is different," Malcolm says, excitement growing as he turns the screen to Gil so he can clearly see the photos as Malcolm flips through. "At first glance it's too bloody to see, but where Abel was almost ritualistically removing the victim's organs, this latest kill was rage-driven. Look at these puncture wounds on the kidney and liver. Our killer wasn't careful and precise like Abel. As a matter of fact, the scene is different enough in particulars that I doubt our new killer ever actually participated in any of the previous murders."

"So what?" Gil asks, leaning in for a close look and grimacing slightly at the photos. "Our killer watched Abel's earlier murders and then took up his mantle when we arrested him? Letting his legacy live on?"

"Actually, I'm not convinced that this new killer was even there for Abel's murders at all. The evidence never pointed to an accomplice at the earlier crime scenes—" Malcolm trails off as Gil's words filter into his head.

"Kid?" Gil asks, caught somewhere between amused and concerned.

"Letting his legacy live on," Malcolm repeats quietly. "Abel has a son. We ruled him out because he had solid alibis for at least two of the murders, but what if he wasn't working with his father? What if he merely witnessed one of the crimes?"

"And what? Decided, 'hey, that looks fun' and gave it a try?" Gil says, disbelieving. He reaches over and lays a gentle hand on Malcolm's shoulder to soften his next words, "Kid, you know more than anyone that having a serial killer for a father doesn't mean the son will be, too."

Malcolm almost flinches away. He hadn't even considered that, honestly. He was following the incongruous pieces of evidence from the latest scene, not looking to start a Kids of Killers club.

"I know, Gil," he says, pulling away from the touch. He sees a flash of something in Gil's eyes at the movement, but his brain is too busy making connections to decipher what it means. "But if Abel's son is trying to carry on his legacy, or even just trying to misdirect the police in order to cast doubt on his father's guilt, that would explain the minor deviations in this crime scene. It would explain the rage, too."

Malcolm pushes to his feet, heading to his suitcase and shucking his jacket as he walks, tossing it on the foot of the bed. He turns back to Gil as he's loosening his tie, pulling the silk fabric from beneath his collar. Just for a moment, a fraction of a second, really, Malcolm would swear he caught a look of longing, of _hunger_ , on Gil's face and it stops him dead in his tracks. It's gone before he even has a chance to question it and Gil hurriedly looks away.

"So now what?" Gil asks, pulling Malcolm's computer onto his lap and staring at it intently, clearly avoiding eye contact.

For Malcolm, it's like all of the gears in his mind come to a grinding halt, freezing him in place. He's sure — absolutely positive — that he must be mistaken, that he must have read that look wrong.

But he's also sure he didn't. 

Malcolm's mouth opens and closes for a moment, but he can't seem to get any words to push past the sudden lump in his throat.

They stay stuck like that, frozen in their uneasy tableaux for what feels like hours, though Malcolm is sure it's only a matter of minutes. Eventually he realizes that he needs to move, to process what he thinks he just saw (what he's sure he _didn't_ just see), and that he can't do that while he's watching Gil very purposefully _not_ look at him.

He tries to say something but ends up just turning on his heel and heading to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him and dropping his forehead to the door. He allows himself a moment to just...exist. To not focus on what happened, to not think about what it means.

And then he moves on autopilot.

He showers quickly, though he forgoes shaving when he notices the tremor in his hand is considerably worse than it ought to be. He dries off, brushes his teeth and styles his hair all without putting a single thought into what he's doing. It's only as he finishes up with his routine that he realizes he didn't bring his clothes in with him.

He debates on just putting on the clothes he was wearing before his shower, but realizes today, more than ever, that he'll need his three-piece armour.

Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, Malcolm tightens the towel around his waist and pulls the door open, ready to head directly to his bag without making eye contact at all.

Only to find out he needn't have worried.

Gil is gone.

And Malcolm doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse.

So he does what he always does. He dons his perfectly pressed armour one piece at a time, his mind settling with each item of clothing that's smoothed over his skin, so that by the time he's dressed, he's fully focused on case once again, determined to leave the mystery of Gil on the back burner until the case is solved.

A quiet knock on the door announces Gil's presence before the door opens and the man steps into the room. Malcolm is standing in front of the dresser, knotting his tie in the mirror as Gil enters, and he sees the purposefully blank expression that's glued to Gil's face as he walks in and gives Malcolm a quick nod before heading to his bag.

"You done in the bathroom?" is all he asks, and Malcolm understands that Gil isn't ready to talk about it either. At least, not yet.

"It's all yours," Malcolm says, gesturing towards the door with an open hand. He's rather proud of just how level his voice sounds.

When the door shuts behind Gil, Malcolm lets out a shaky breath and makes his way back to the couch, pulling his computer over and reviewing his notes once again.

By the time Gil comes out of the bathroom and is ready to go, Malcolm is caught up in the thrill of the chase once again, more sure than ever that it's DaSilva's son that's behind the most recent murder, even though he has no substantial proof to back it up.

"We need to go talk to Lucas DaSilva," Malcolm says, closing his laptop and shoving it back in the bag, ready to go.

"Bright, it's not even 5am," Gil says, the stirrings of a smile tugging at his lips and the small amount of tension Malcolm was still carrying seems to melt away.

They're going to be okay.

Malcolm looks at his watch, surprised to find it's still so early. "Oh."

"Yeah," Gil doesn't even try to hold back his smile this time and Malcolm's heart flutters at the sight. "How about we head to the station first? Fill Deputy Miller in first? Maybe talk to Abel and see if he even knows what his son is up to?"

The fact that Gil isn't even questioning Malcolm's instincts that Lucas is their killer has Malcolm soaring and he's bouncing to the door before Gil has even tossed the covers up over the mattress in a half-hearted attempt to make the bed before they leave for the day.

"Gil, come on," Malcolm whisper-yells from halfway out the door, trying to keep his voice down for the other guests, but too excited about their lead to _actually_ whisper.

Gil grabs his wallet and keys from the dresser with a fond shake of his head, picks up his jacket from the edge of the couch, and follows Malcolm out the door with a spark of fire in his eyes that Malcolm chooses to attribute to the break in their case. 

The chase is on.

By the time they get to the station and convince the officer on duty to let them speak to Abel, then get him set up in the sole interrogation room, it's nearly 5:30 and the sky is beginning to lighten outside the barred windows of the room. A spray of pinks and oranges flood the room, adding a warmth that the cool, sterile room was desperately lacking.

Abel refuses to speak to them no matter what they say, but Malcolm doesn't need words to confirm what he'd already suspected. Abel is an open book and even the officer who stands in the corner of the room throughout the interview can tell he's covering for his son from the moment Lucas's name is brought up.

They keep the interview short, knowing they're not going to get anything more concrete from Abel but taking it as a win nonetheless.

"You saw that, right?" Malcolm spins and walks backwards in front of Gil as they make their way down the hall back to the offices in the station. "He _knows_ Lucas is responsible for yesterday's murder."

Gil nods, expression grim, and Malcolm can't blame him. It's not like the thought hasn't crossed his own mind about whether or not he could've ended up the same way — a serial killer like his father. Gil's assured him in the past that it never would've happened, but it still settles like lead in his stomach when he considers it too hard.

They need to wait for Deputy Miller before they can make a move on Lucas, who, according to Malcolm, would certainly still be in the area, likely planning out his next kill. Whether he's committing murder to carry on Abel's legacy or to cast doubt on the investigation, Malcolm is certain that he _will_ kill again.

Fortunately, Deputy Miller lives close by and arrives at the station less than ten minutes later.

Unfortunately, that's about the only break they catch that day.

When they go to confront him, they discover Lucas had checked out of the hotel he'd been staying at in the middle of the night. The front desk staff have no additional information to provide them and surveillance of the area tells them he headed west on the street in front of the hotel, but nothing more.

They let Dani and JT know what's going on and have them check Lucas's apartment and workplace in the city, then request a uni sit on each location when there's no sign of him at either.

"He's going to keep himself hidden," Malcolm says as they head back to the conference room at the Sheriff's office to regroup and look into where Lucas might have gone. "But he also needs to find another victim. I suspect the two will go hand in hand."

"How so?" Gil asks, settling into one of the terribly uncomfortable seats with a grimace. They've only been in Lake George a handful of days but Malcolm can tell Gil's back is already bothering him from the stackable chairs that dot the station.

"His next kill will be a victim of opportunity," Malcolm explains, one arm crossed over his chest while his other hand taps his chin as he paces in front of the whiteboard. "Wherever he chooses to conceal himself, that's where he'll find his next victim. Unlike Abel, who followed his chosen target for weeks before making a move and followed a distinct victimology, Lucas is likely to choose whoever he comes across that vaguely fits the physical parameters of his fathers victims. It explains why yesterday's victim wasn't a single parent like all of the previous victims. Lucas's next victim will merely be in the wrong place at the wrong time, which makes it next to impossible to track him through potential victims. We need to find where he's camping out in order to prevent the next murder."

Which leads to hours of research into Lucas's past.

Every officer in the town has been called in, mostly patrolling the streets and keeping an eye on the festival, though Malcolm is convinced that Lucas will stay as far away from there as possible. He understands the need to cover the area, though, especially with so many out of town guests and the festival being such a draw for the community.

They follow leads that lead nowhere, popping in and out of the station all day, feeling the clock ticking down with every trip they make that ends with them slinking back to the station empty handed.

It's not until mid afternoon that they catch their first real break with a call from Dani.

"I've been combing through the social media of Lucas's family," Dani says when Gil puts her on speaker for Malcolm and Miller to hear. "Specifically, Abel's sister, Andreia. It looks like she's been converting old prints to digital copies and uploading them to Facebook for the last few months and I can across a family picture of her, Abel and Lucas in front of a rental cabin that appears to be in Lake George."

"How do you know it's here?" Gil asks, but he's already getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket, obviously trusting the intel and ready to move on it.

"I followed a hunch. There's a cabin number in the photo and I did some research and pulled it up on Google street view to confirm. It's definitely the right cabin," Dani says simply, brushing off her phenomenal detective skills as she carries on. "I know there's no guarantee he's there, but it's probably worth checking out."

"Great job, Powell," Gil says, leading the way outside with Malcolm, Deputy Miller, and Officer Carey — an officer Malcolm only met that morning — in tow. "Text me the address and we'll go check it out. I'll keep you posted."

Gil passes the address to Deputy Miller and they separate into two cars, Gil following Miller since the man already has an idea of where the cabin is, just outside of town.

Malcolm is practically vibrating by the time they get there, convinced that they have the right location. He just hopes the man hasn't already claimed his next victim. They park about a quarter mile away from the cabin, leaving the cars out of the line of sight in case Lucas is watching for visitors.

They make their way almost silently up the drive, only the quiet crackle of gravel beneath their shoes to announce their presence. Deputy Miller signals for Malcolm and Gil to go around back and they move as one to skirt the edge of the cabin, making their way to the back door.

Just as Gil lays his hand on the tarnished brass door knob, gunshots ring out at the front of the cabin.

Malcolm's gaze darts to Gil just in time for him to say, "Bright, stay here," and then Gil is pushing through the door, his gun raised and a determined look on his face.

Malcolm waits for a grand total of six seconds before he follows Gil in.

It's a fucking disaster inside.

There's blood _everywhere_.

There's a body on the floor, already eviscerated and lying in a massive pool of blood.

Officer Carey is slumped on the floor next to the front door, grasping his stomach to stem the flow of blood from what is clearly a gunshot wound.

Gil and Deputy Miller have their guns trained on Lucas DaSilva, who is holding a terrified woman against his body as a human shield with one arm, and swinging his gun back and forth between Miller and Gil with the other. 

When Malcolm walks into the living room, hands held up next to his shoulders in a gesture of peace, it breaks the tense standoff, but not the way he'd hoped. Lucas swings his arm from Gil to Malcolm and pulls the trigger as soon as he registers the movement.

"No!" Gil shouts as Malcolm staggers back and grasps at his right arm, warm blood immediately soaking through his shirt and seeping through his fingers. 

And Gil turns his attention from Lucas to Malcolm just as Lucas shifts his aim to Gil.

Malcolm's entire world freezes in that moment, with Gil's terror-filled eyes locked on him while Lucas takes aim at Gil's head. Malcolm heart stutters to a halt and he doesn't even have the breath to shout out a warning before another gunshot explodes in the small space and Malcolm thinks he may just vomit as he waits for Gil's body to hit the floor.

Instead, a small hole opens in Lucas's forehead, just above his left eyebrow and his gun clatters to the ground half a second before the man himself does, a spray of blood shining bright on the curtains behind where he'd been standing.

Malcolm has to grab onto the wall to keep from falling to his knees as the relief courses through his body, leaving a bloody handprint on the wall as he keeps himself upright. 

Gil and Malcolm both look to Deputy Miller, taking in the way his shoulders slump but his mouth falls into a resolved line, and Malcolm instinctively understands that, though this is not the first life he's taken, it still hasn't gotten any easier. Malcolm _wants_ to thank the man for saving their lives, wants to assure him that he did the right thing. 

What he actually does is pull himself upright and tug Gil into an embrace so tight that his arm aches and soaks his shirt with blood.

"Jesus, kid." The hitch in Gil's chest as he leads Malcolm to a dinette chair and has him sit gives away just how affected he is, even if he's obviously trying to remain calm.

"You two good?" Miller asks around an armful of crying hostage.

"Yeah," Malcolm breathes out, looking deep into Gil's eyes. There's no denying what he sees there, but now's not the time to discuss it. "Go help Carey. I'm fine, it's just a flesh wound."

Gil hesitates just for a moment but then nods and runs over to Officer Carey, who is slowly listing to the right, losing the grip he had on his wound As he loses his hold on consciousness.

Malcolm keeps pressure on his own wound as he watches everything play out before him like a movie. Deputy Miller leads the woman from the house to wait in the back of his car, removing her from the gory scene inside while they wait for ambulances and forensics and more officers to seal off the area.

He watches Gil talk to the injured officer, trying to keep him awake while he presses his jacket against the gunshot wound, but he also notices the furtive glance that Gil keeps tossing his way, and it feels to Malcolm like the man is worried he won't be there the next time he looks.

And Malcolm gets it. He does. He's a little afraid that if Gil isn't in his direct line of sight that he's going to start picturing what could have happened if Deputy Miller hadn't been so quick, hadn't had such good aim.

He's pretty sure the wooziness he's feeling is only partially from blood loss.

The idea of losing Gil is...more than he's capable of handling. Especially now.

So he doesn't let Gil out of his sight. Even when the paramedics arrive – one team hurrying to Carey's side while the other team splits up to look over their hostage and Malcolm — he angles himself to be able to see Gil the entire time.

The first thing the paramedic does is cut his sleeve away to get a better idea of what they're dealing with. Turns out it's a little more than just a flesh wound, but still nothing to be overly concerned about. Nothing life threatening, at least. It's a through-and-through, about halfway between his shoulder and elbow, and while it hurts like a bitch and is still heavily bleeding, the paramedic has it dressed surprisingly quickly, readying him for a trip to the nearest hospital, which he promptly refuses.

"For Christ's sake, kid, it's a gunshot wound, not a papercut. You're going to the hospital," Gil mutters from his perch next to the paramedics, keeping a keen eye on the proceedings as they load Officer Carey onto a stretcher.

The nearest hospital is in Glen Falls, which is close enough that, if Gil is insisting he goes, Malcolm is willing to at least insist that they take his car, rather than an ambulance.

Gil agrees surprisingly easily.

They barely speak during the ride there. As a matter of fact, they barely speak the entire time they're at the hospital. There's a tension between them, though, that practically screams the entire time they're there.

The doctor shoots them concerned looks as she works on Malcolm's arm, stitching the wound and wrapping his arm up, clearly picking up on something between them, but she merely finishes her work when Gil flashes his badge. Before the sun is even setting, they're on their way back to the B&B.

They have the room for another night, and they're going to have to fill out statements in the morning anyways, so they decide, with an unspoken agreement, to stay for one last night.

Gil hovers unnecessarily close once they've parked, even making his way to Malcolm's side and offering him a hand to get out of the car, but Malcolm certainly isn't going to complain. He wants nothing more than to be as close to Gil as he possibly can right now.

He takes Gil's hand, though he doesn't actually need it, and even once he's out of the car, Malcolm makes the decision not to let go.

A look of utter shock flashes over Gil's face, but he makes no move to release Malcolm's hand and a delighted tingle shoots down Malcolm's spine at the contact.

"Gil—" Malcolm says quietly when they reach the door to their room. He needs to know what this is, what Gil _wants_ this to be.

"Not yet," Gil says, equally as quiet, giving Malcolm's hand a squeeze as he pulls the key to their room from his pocket. Malcolm locks his gaze on Gil's face as he fits the key in the lock, holding onto Malcolm's hand the entire time.

It's only once Gil opens the door and gestures for Malcolm to go through that he finally lets go, and Malcolm has to keep himself from reaching out to take hold again. He doesn't have long to regret the loss, though, because as soon as Gil follows Malcolm into the room and closes the door behind them, Gil is pushing him gently up against the door.

"Kid, if I'm reading this wrong, you need to stop me now," Gil whispers, so close that Malcolm can feel the heat of his words ghosting over his skin.

"You're not," Malcolm says around the lump that's suddenly formed in his throat. "Reading this wrong, I mean."

"Thank God." The words weave from Gil's mouth into Malcolm's as Gil presses their lips together in a kiss that speaks of the fear and relief and desperation that both of them have been suppressing for hours.

And it's fucking glorious.

Malcolm's been dreaming about this for years. Fantasizing about soft, stolen kisses in the middle of the day, and filthy, passionate kisses in the Le Mans. Fantasized about this and so much more.

And none of his fantasies hold a candle to the real thing.

The feel of Gil's goatee scratching against his own stubble has him growing hard in his pants before they've done anything more than slide their lips together, and when he moans at the arousal coursing through his veins, Gil takes the opportunity to slide his tongue past Malcolm's lips and into his mouth. 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity sparking from where their tongues meet all the way down to the tips of his toes.

He doesn't even think about it as his hands scramble to Gil's hips and work to tug the man closer, pressing their bodies together with as much contact as possible. And when he feels Gil growing hard up against his belly, his entire body begins to hum with anticipation.

"Fuck, Gil," Malcolm says, pulling back from the kiss and dropping his head back against the door while he gasps for a breath that doesn't quite seem like enough, even as it's filling his lungs. He's so turned on right now that he's worried about coming in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

Gil merely drags his lips from Malcolm's mouth to his jaw and then down his neck, nibbling and sucking a trail of open mouthed kisses over his skin and Malcolm can only pray that some of them are hard enough to leave him bruised and marked and _claimed_ come morning.

He wants the world to see that Gil has done this to him.

He rocks his hips against Gil's body at the thought, his cock giving a valiant twitch from the confines of his trousers. 

"What do you want, kid?" Gil asks between burning kisses along his pulse point that make it hard for Malcolm to think.

"You," Malcolm breathes in a rush. He doesn't need to think about that at all. It's been all he's wanted for years now. "God, Gil. I want you on me and in me and making me yours. Remind me we're still alive."

The last is new. But it's just as true as everything else. When Lucas pointed that gun at Gil, when Malcolm thought that it was all going to end because he'd disobeyed Gil's order to wait outside, when Malcolm's mere presence distracted Gil enough that he turned his back on an armed killer, Malcolm felt his entire world begin to dissolve. And he needs Gil to prove to him that they're still there. Still alive. That they still have each other.

And the look in Gil's eyes as he pulls back says that Gil needs the same thing.

Taking extra care not to jostle Malcolm's bandaged arm, Gil begins to slowly pull off the ruins of Malcolm's jacket and shirt. The waistcoat may be salvageable if he can find a really good dry cleaner, but frankly, Malcolm would be willing to toss the entire thing in the trash if it meant he could feel more of Gil's hands on him.

"Jesus, Bright," Gil says as he bares Malcolm's torso, dropping everything to the floor beside them, his eyes roaming over smooth skin and flat planes before coming to rest on the thick bandage wrapped around Malcolm's arm. "You scared the hell out of me today."

Malcolm understands. He knows _exactly_ what the fear felt like and he feels horrible for having subjected Gil to that incomparable terror.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, refusing to look away even though he wants to.

A low buzz builds beneath his skin when his gaze is met with a soft smile and warm eyes. "We can talk about it later. Let me take care of you. Let me make sure you're okay."

Malcolm couldn't ask for anything more. 

"Yes," he says, and before the word Is even out, Gil is sliding his hands down over the swell of Malcolm's ass, stopping just below his cheeks as Gil hoists him up like he weighs nothing at all.

Malcolm's legs instinctively wrap around Gil's waist and Gil takes a moment to kiss Malcolm senseless up against the door before spinning them around and walking them to the bed. The care with which Gil lowers him to the bed sets the butterflies loose in Malcolm's stomach and he pulls Gil tighter, refusing to let go.

The heated kisses, the roaming hands — it's almost surreal and neither man seems to be in a rush to let the other go until they're both so hard in their pants that they desperately need to move things along. 

Malcolm chases after Gil's lips when he finally pulls away, disentangling himself from between Malcolm's legs with no little effort since Malcolm refuses to let go. He's aching to feel him closer.

Gil chuckles and runs a hand along the outside of Malcolm's thigh. "If you wanna take things any further, you're gonna have to let me go," Gil teases but then becomes more serious as he adds, "unless this is all you want. Which is fine, too, kid. I'd be happy just holding you tonight."

And while Malcolm would be happy with that, too, he knows he wants more. He pushes himself up on his left arm, still holding Gil between his legs as he looks Gil in the eye and says, "I want everything you're willing to give me."

"I'd give you the world if I could," Gil returns, just as sincerely.

The funny thing is, he actually believes him. He releases his hold on Gil and reaches out for the button of Gil's pants, but sucks a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks his arm back when the movement pulls on his stitches.

"Hey," Gil says quietly, easing Malcolm back to the bed. "Take it easy. We've got all night and the last thing I want is to hurt you."

It makes Malcolm pause. He doesn't want to doubt Gil but he needs to know _he's_ not misreading this situation. "Just tonight?" he asks quietly, his heartbeat hummingbird fast as he waits for the answer. 

Whatever Gil offers, Malcolm will happily accept. Even if he knows it's going to lead to a broken heart come morning.

He just wants to be prepared. 

"Tonight," Gil says with a soft smile that makes his eyes twinkle, "Tomorrow. As long as you'll have me."

Malcolm holds back his response of, "Forever," feeling it's, perhaps, a little melodramatic and fearing he might scare Gil off if the man discovers the depths of his feelings for him tonight. Instead, he slowly, carefully, pushes himself back up and shimmies right to the edge of the bed so he doesn't have far to reach, doesn't need to extend his arm in order to reach Gil's fly.

He looks up through his eyelashes as he pops the button and drags the zipper down, delighting in the way Gil's pupils dilate, the way his breath catches in his chest as he keeps his eyes trained on Malcolm, bouncing between his heated gaze and the movement of his hands.

With a quick tug, Gil's trousers are pulled down just below the dip of his ass, exposing his tented boxers, and Malcolm takes a moment to nuzzle up against his prize, savouring the anticipation of baring Gil completely.

He rubs his cheek along the length, already speculating as to what it will look like — how heavy, how long, cut or uncut. He mouths at it through the fabric, forcing himself to wait until he doesn't think he can possibly stand to wait a single second longer.

Only then does he slip his fingers beneath the waistband and tug.

The hard cock that bobs out as he shoves boxers and trousers down a little further is more beautiful than he ever could have guessed. Malcolm is pleased — so, so pleased — to discover he was right about how long Gil is, but his mouth waters to find he's even thicker than he'd expected.

He can hardly wait to feel it stretching him open, filling him up. But first…

He leans in and plants a gentle kiss to the tip, letting the small bead of precum pearl on his lips, then leans back to lick his lips clean, capturing his first taste of the man. His eyes flutter shut and he moans quietly as the taste floods his mouth, and Malcolm can't decide if he wants Gil's load down his throat or inside of him. 

He wants it all.

For now, he leans back in and darts his tongue out over the slit, dragging a groan from deep within Gil. Malcolm's cock twitches in his pants at the noise, knowing _he_ was able to draw that sound from Gil, aching to hear more — to hear his grunts as he fucks Malcolm's face, to hear him moan as he slides into Malcolm's eager body for the first time.

The moan that falls from his own lips is entirely unintentional, but as he wraps his lips around Gil's head, the vibrations seem to shoot directly through Gil's cock and up his spine, contracting every muscle in the man's body as he holds himself back from thrusting into Malcolm's mouth.

And that's no good at all.

"You know," Malcolm says casually, pulling off of Gil's cock and kissing his way down the shaft to lick and suck at Gil's balls. He rolls their weight on his tongue for a moment before releasing them and offering, "I love having my face fucked, if that's something you'd be interested in."

It's half-question, half-statement, and Malcolm doesn't wait for an answer before mouthing his way back up Gil's cock, swirling his tongue around the corona before looking up to see Gil's answer.

And Gil looks fucking _ravenous_.

The corners of Malcolm's lips tick up at the sight, thinking maybe Gil isn't going to be as gentle with him as he'd first thought, but he covers the expression of utter glee that he's sure is overtaking his features by dropping his jaw and taking Gil into his mouth, letting him bump up against his throat to ensure he still has his gag reflex under control.

He does. 

"Jesus, Bright," Gil's breath comes out stuttered and heavy with arousal. "You're fucking beautiful like this, with a cock stretching out those perfect lips of yours."

The praise makes a quick stop at Malcolm's heart before traveling to his cock, and Gil — clever, observant Gil — notices immediately, smiling smugly down at Malcolm.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Is it dirty talk or the praise that does it for you?" Gil asks, carding a hand gently through Malcolm's hair as he speaks, guiding Malcolm's movements as he bobs on his cock. 

Gil isn't taking control — not yet — but he isn't saying no, either and Malcolm wonders just how rough Gil is willing to get with him.

He pulls back after a moment, savouring the slow drag of Gil's cock over his tongue as he releases him from his mouth.

"Honestly? Both," Malcolm admits, rubbing his cheek along Gil's length, refusing to put any sort of distance between them. "Though I'm pretty sure you could recite the phone book and get me hard. Your voice—" Malcolm sucks in a deep breath, filling himself with Gil's musky scent. "God, your voice is so damn sexy, Gil."

"Good to know," Gil chuckles, a deep belly laugh, and Malcolm would swear he can feel the vibrations shaking his own chest. "What else gets you hot, kid?"

 _That,_ Malcolm thinks, his eyelids fluttering closed. Gil calling him 'kid', especially now, while Gil's cock is heavy in his hand and pressed up against his face.

He's not sure about bringing up anything along those lines right now, though. He's not willing to blow this opportunity by saying something that makes Gil cringe away from him. After coming this far, he thinks he might just break into a thousand pieces if they don't see this through.

"Look at me, kid" Gil says, the words caught somewhere between a request and an order and Malcolm doesn't act in time to prevent the moan that slips out. "I thought so."

Gil leans down, his lips latching over Malcolm's, tongue invading his mouth, all while he keeps a firm fistful of Malcolm's hair, tugging his head back.

"Is this what you want, _kid_? You want me to take charge?" Gil asks between hot licks over Malcolm's lips. He bites down on Malcolm's lower lip, not hard enough to break the skin but enough that it hurts, just a little, just the right amount.

Malcolm gasps at the sting and thinks he might just end up creaming his pants if Gil keeps this up.

"Fuck," Malcolm pants when Gil releases his lip and licks over the spot that's pulsing so deliciously. "Yes, please."

Gil pulls back but keeps his hold on Malcolm's hair, keeps Malcolm's face angled up and unable to look away from Gil's intense gaze as it sweeps over his face. Malcolm wonders briefly if this is how people feel when he's profiling them. If it feels like they're being flayed open, and having every inch of their psyche inspected.

After only a moment — though it feels like an hour — Gil evidently discovers what he's looking for. His lips tilt up in a knowing smile that makes Malcolm's stomach swoop. 

"Say it," Gil says quietly and this time there's no mistaking that it's an order.

"Daddy," Malcolm whispers, a shiver rocking him as it shoots up his spine at the simple word.

"Fuck, kid," Gil growls. "Daddy's gonna take such good care of you."

An honest to God whimper spills from Malcolm's lips, though he's not even sure himself if it's at the promise or just hearing Gil call himself Daddy. Either way, he's nearly vibrating as he unhinges his jaw and strains to get Gil's cock in his mouth once again.

"So eager," Gil chuckles, running a thumb over Malcolm's lower lip and then pushing it into his mouth. Malcolm immediately latches on, swirling his tongue around the digit the same way he would if it were Gil's cock. "Such a good boy."

Gil only lets him suck on his thumb for a second before he pulls free and grabs hold of his cock instead, guiding it to Malcolm's waiting mouth.

Malcolm dives in like he was born for this — sucking cock, providing pleasure, pleasing _Gil_. And with Malcolm's ability to read people, to pick up on the smallest of signals and adjust his course accordingly, he thinks that it might just be true. 

He's really very, _very_ good at this.

In a matter of minutes Gil's restraint is crumbling and he's rocking progressively harder into Malcolm's mouth. When Malcolm gives his best pleading look up to Gil, flashing him the puppy-dog eyes that he knows always win the man over, Malcolm watches the last of his reserve disintegrate before his eyes.

"This is what you want, huh?" Gil's voice is tight as he holds himself still enough for Malcolm to answer. "You want Daddy to use you up? Fuck your face real good?"

The best he can manage is a filthy groan around Gil's cock, but Gil obviously understands it for the affirmation that it is because he grabs hold of Malcolm's head with both hands and rocks his hips in a smooth, deep motion that pushes his cock into the tight ring of Malcolm's throat. He starts slow, giving Malcolm the opportunity to adjust, to pull back if he needs to. When Malcolm merely drops his hands to the mattress beside him and shifts his head to take Gil even deeper, Gil finally picks up the pace.

And it's perfect.

He fucks Malcolm's face with an abandon that Malcolm wouldn't have expected from the straight-edged, kindly man he's known for so many years. His thrusts are hard and fast and everything Malcolm could ever hope for, and he pulls Malcolm towards his public bone with each pump.

Even when Malcolm chokes and gags around Gil's cock in his throat, Gil doesn't let up. He does, however, run a hand through Malcolm's hair and praise him as he holds Malcolm down.

"Fuck, kid, you're being such a good boy for Daddy," Gil groans, "Taking my cock so well. God, you're beautiful like this."

Malcolm wants to moan but his throat is so stretched and so full that he can't make a sound. He does manage to grab hold of his own cock through his pants with one hand so he doesn't just pop off from being used and praised like this.

Gil seems to be close to the edge himself and it's only a few minutes longer before he's pulling out of Malcolm's mouth entirely.

Malcolm's whine at finding himself suddenly so empty is cut off when Gil gently guides him back to lie on the bed with Gil leaning over him, kissing him with so much passion that Malcolm's train of thought derails entirely.

Gil keeps himself propped up on one elbow on Malcolm's left side, clearly keeping a wide berth from his injury on the other side, and allows his free hand to roam over Malcolm's torso, eventually coming to a stop at his nipple. He rolls the hardening nub between thumb and forefinger as his tongue continues to plunder Malcolm's mouth and soon enough, Malcolm is rocking his hips up, searching for the friction he's so desperate for.

Though Gil's mouth eventually leaves his, it doesn't travel far. He peppers Malcolm's face with tender kisses that are so far from the needy, desperate actions of only a moment ago that Malcolm is left reeling, closing his eyes against the warring desires in his mind and body.

"What do you want, sweetheart," Gil asks again, pressing the words into his skin with the softest of kisses.

"Just you," Malcolm says simply, swimming in the sensations that are coursing through his body. He feels Gil's smile against the sensitive skin at his temple and feels an answering pull at his own lips. 

Gil calling him 'sweetheart' is somehow better than anything else, his heart singing in his chest at the simple pet name. 

He's been falling in love with the man for years, but he's never honestly considered the fact that his feelings would one day be reciprocated. Oh, he's fantasized about Gil. Often. But even in his fantasies, Gil never kissed him so tenderly, never touched him so softly, never called him _sweetheart_.

"Let's get rid of these clothes, hmm?" Gil says, oblivious to the tidal wave of emotions crashing into Malcolm. So when Gil stands up to pull off his sweater and shirt, and finish removing the trousers and underwear that are still trapped around his thighs, Malcolm takes advantage of the space to suck in a deep breath and settle his racing pulse.

Which is all for nothing as Gil's fingers move to Malcolm's pants. His heart hammers against his ribs as Gil deftly undoes Malcolm's pants and tugs them down, pulling his boxer-briefs and then his socks along with them, leaving Malcolm naked and exposed in a matter of seconds.

And the way Gil is looking at him, like he wants to devour him, steals Malcolm's breath away mid-exhale.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't pictured peeling you out of your suits, Bright," Gil says as he urges Malcolm farther back to the middle of the bed, crawling along after him, his cock bobbing as he moves. "But you're even more beautiful than I imagined. Your suits hide such a tight little body."

Malcolm flushes at the compliment, feeling the heat wash over his cheeks and across his chest as Gil's gaze rakes over his body. He's pleased that Gil likes what he sees.

"All for you, Daddy," he sighs. 

"Is that right, sweetheart?" Gil says, wrapping a hand around Malcolm's throbbing cock and pumping slowly. "This is all for me? Laid out so pretty, just for me to touch and taste?"

Malcolm moans and bucks up into Gil's hand. He plans on telling him that everything he is and everything he does is for Gil, but before he can get the words out, Gil is leaning in to suck along his neck, trailing up to his ear, and Malcolm loses coherency as Gil continues to stroke. To talk.

"You're doing so well," Gil's voice is low and quiet, shooting straight to Malcolm's cock. "You like my hands on you, sweetheart? Just imagine how much you're going to like having Daddy's cock inside of you."

All at once it's too much. Too many sensations, too many fantasies come to life without warning. Malcolm shouts as he comes, loud enough that Gil cups his hand over Malcolm's mouth to smother the noise before it wakes the other guests.

"Jesus, kid," Gil groans against his neck. "That may have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

With his belly striped in come and Gil's warm body next to his, Malcolm feels content in a way he's not sure he's ever felt before. There's only one thing that could possibly make this night any better.

"Fuck me," he whispers, lips brushing over the shell of Gil's ear.

Malcolm would swear he can feel the hitch of Gil's breath in his chest, and he can _definitely_ feel the twitch of Gil's cock against his thigh.

"Condom?" Gil's voice is husky and thick and so damn seductive that even with the single, solitary word, Malcolm's dick attempts to twitch back to life.

"Only if you want to," Malcolm says. He wants to take Gil bare, wants to feel the slide of his hot skin deep inside of him, wants Gil's come to coat his insides and fill him up completely. But he understands that Gil may not want that, and is totally fine with it. He'll take Gil however he can have him.

"I really, really don't." The words come half a second before Gil starts to move, spreading Malcolm's thighs with warm hands and setting himself in the space between. "God, sweetheart. Daddy's gonna makes you feel so good."

"Fuck, yes. Please, Daddy." 

He tosses his head back, slamming his eyes shut as Gil's fingers drift down to rub against his puckered muscle, massaging lightly as he stares down at Malcolm's body. 

"I bet you're gonna be nice and tight for me, aren't you?" Gil asks, prodding at the muscle without ever actually breaching it. His touch is like fire, exploding over every nerve ending and then shooting up his spine and straight into his brain.

Malcolm peeks through hooded eyelids just in time to see Gil suck a finger into his mouth, getting it nice and wet, before bringing it back to his hole, rubbing more firmly this time, until the muscle gives way and he can push inside.

It's like he forgets how to breathe. He's used to having things — fingers and toys, mostly, but the occasional cock as well — inside of him, but this is so much more than any of that could ever be, because it's Gil's finger slowly moving inside of him, stretching him open, sliding along his inner walls.

"This okay, kid?" Gil asks, running a soothing hand along Malcolm's thigh, the hairs there twisting at the touch and tickling ever so slightly.

"God, yes," Malcolm huffs. He'd be perfectly content to spend the rest of his life like this. Until he remembers that there's more to come. That Gil's flushed and leaking cock is waiting to push into him. He sucks in a breath that still doesn't feel like enough and pleads, "More."

Gil pumps his finger once, twice more, and then pulls it out completely, and Malcolm could scream at the loss.

"We're not doing this with just spit," Gil laughs as he climbs off the bed and walks over to his duffle, digging around blindly as he keeps his eyes locked on Malcolm's splayed-out form. It takes a few seconds to find what he's looking for, but then he pulls his hand out, a little silver package between his fingers and a smile on his face. "Aha."

As desperate as Malcolm is to be filled, he can't help but laugh at how pleased Gil looks. "Do you always carry lube with you on work trips?" he teases.

"A couple hours in the car with you and then watching you work for who knows how many days straight?" Gil chuckles as he climbs back between Malcolm's legs and rips the little foil packet open. "I knew I was gonna have to stroke one out at some point."

Malcolm's dick throbs at the thought of Gil jacking himself off in the room next to Malcolm's, thinking about _him_ while he works his cock with those beautiful hands.

Malcolm's moan falters when Gil drips some lube on his index and middle fingers and drops them back to Malcolm's hole, swirling around the rim before sliding inside, feeling infinitely better for the smooth glide.

"You think about me when you get off?" Malcolm pants as Gil starts to scissor his fingers, gently stretching the muscle to prepare him for Gil's much, much larger cock.

"More often than I should," Gil admits with half a smile that looks a little embarrassed about the admission.

The confession leaves Malcolm lightheaded with arousal, wondering just how long Gil's been wanting him, but he pushes that thought aside and asks, "Yeah? And what do we do in these fantasies of yours?"

When Gil's fingers hit his prostate, Malcolm's back arches off the bed, pleasure spiraling through his entire body at the light touch, losing the thread of the conversation, until Gil answers back.

"Depends on the day," Gil's voice rumbles through the quiet room. "Sometimes I lay you down and eat your ass until you're begging me to fill you up. Sometimes I take you over my desk at the precinct and fuck you until you come all over my status reports." The fingers inside of Malcolm pick up pace as Gil speaks, obviously feeling a surge of arousal at reliving the fantasies. "Sometimes you suck me off in the car, your face in my lap as we drive down the freeway at night."

Fuck yes, Malcolm thinks. He wants all of that and more, and clenches hard around Gil's fingers as he realizes that, maybe, he can actually have it.

"Is that all?" Malcolm teases, but the smile falls away as Gil pulls his fingers out of Malcolm's loosened hole.

"Fuck no," Gil says, grabbing the lube once again and drizzling it on his cock. He strokes himself slowly, spreading the slick as he says, "I think about laying you down and showing you with my lips and my tongue and my fingers just how much you mean to me. I think about dragging you out of a crime scene to fuck you up against a wall when you're being brilliant and gorgeous and everything I could ever want. I think about whisking you away somewhere tropical so I can spend an entire week inside of you."

When Gil meets his eyes, there's a depth of emotion there that leaves Malcolm reeling and he can't stand the thought of being separate from this man for one second longer. He surges up, ignoring the ache in his arm at the sudden movement, climbing onto Gil's lap, straddling his hips as he wraps his arms around his neck, their cocks rubbing deliciously as he brings their lips crashing together.

Gil's startled gasp turns into a moan at the first brush of their hot flesh and he wraps one arm around Malcolm's lower back to tug him close while the other takes their cocks in a firm grip and strokes hard and fast.

"Fuck, Gil," Malcolm jaw drops mid-kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too, kid," Gil whispers just before he licks his way back into Malcolm's mouth. 

The need to feel Gil inside of him doesn't lessen, but the blinding intensity seems to fade, just a little, at hearing those words.

Hearing those words from _Gil_.

"You ready for Daddy to show you just how much he loves you, sweetheart?" Gil asks after a few minutes of kissing and stroking and roaming hands.

He's never been more ready for anything in his life.

Gil is unbearably gentle as he shifts them so Malcolm is laying with his head resting on the soft pillows, but somehow manages to keep them pressed skin to skin nearly the entire time.

Malcolm has half a second to consider just how thankful he is for that Food & Wine Festival, for the couple that had to cancel their reservations at the B&B, for the series of events that conspired to make all of this happen, before Gil is nudging the head of his cock against Malcolm's twitching hole.

And then he stops thinking at all.

The stretch is spectacular. Gil plants his hands on either side of Malcolm's head and pushes in, slow and steady like the man himself, his gaze locked on Malcolm every second, making sure he's not hurting him.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," Malcolm gasps when he finds his words. He doesn't want Gil to think he needs to be gentle with him just because he's injured.

"Noted," Gil huffs a laugh over Malcolm's skin. "But Daddy wants to remember this."

The kiss that Gil presses against the edge of Malcolm's eyebrow is decidedly tender.

The snap of his hips is not.

"Fuck," Malcolm cries out, scrambling to wrap his arms around Gil's back. 

"Is that what you want from Daddy, sweetheart?" Gil smiles mischievously as his eyes glide between Malcolm's body and the expression of pure bliss that he knows damn well has taken over his face. "Want me to use you hard? Make you feel it?"

"Oh my god, yes. Please, Gil. Daddy." The words spew from his mouth without thought and he has to gather his wits to ask for what he's been wanting all these years. "Fuck me hard. Use my body."

Gil drops one last kiss on his lips and then pushes himself up, shuffling forward to bracket Malcolm's hips with his powerful thighs while his fingers wrap around Malcolm's ribs for leverage — holding himself steady, holding Malcolm in place.

An arched eyebrow is all the warning he gets before Gil is pistoning his hips in short, sharp jerks, his balls slapping up against Malcolm's skin with each thrust.

If it wasn't for Gil's unyielding hold on his body, Malcolm has no doubt he'd be banging into the headboard from the sheer power of Gil's movements, and honestly, he doesn't even think he'd care. All he cares about is Gil's cock slamming into him, Gil's strong hands holding him fast, Gil's gaze locked on the space where they're joined together, watching himself disappear into Malcolm's willing body again and again.

He's never felt this level of pleasure before, but that's only half of what's sending him headlong towards another orgasm. The other half is the pleasure that’s written so clearly on every aspect of Gil's bearing; the way his pupils are blown so wide that hardly any of the rich, warm brown of his iris is showing, the tension in his muscles, the increasing speed of his breathing — even taking in account the strenuous physical activity — and the way the rapid beat of his heart is visible at his carotid artery, the skin there pulsing far faster than it should.

The more obvious signs of his arousal — the downright filthy moans that are springing from deep inside of him, the throbbing cock that's remorselessly pounding into Malcolm — are impossible to miss and Malcolm drops his hands to tangle in the quilt below him, fisting the fabric as he holds on and enjoys the ride.

It takes an embarrassingly short time to reach the point where he knows he's going to come again, soon, but the way Gil is battering his prostate is already sending him careening towards release once again.

"Daddy!" Malcolm shouts, tossing an arm over his eyes to try and stave off his orgasm as long as he possibly can, burying his face in the crook of his arm as Gil pounds into him. 

It has the opposite effect of what he intended. 

While he'd been thinking that being unable to see Gil's body as it flexes and works him open — being unable to see Gil's face contort with pleasure — would help to calm him, all it does it heighten his other senses, and soon he's overwhelmed with the feel of Gil's skin against his, the sound of Gil's heavy breathing and filthy groans, the smell of their sex, combining and mingling and filling the room.

"Fuck kid, come for Daddy," Gil pants, pulling Malcolm's body down to meet each of his thrusts, slamming him onto his cock. "Come on my cock."

Malcolm throws his head back in a silent scream as he does what he's told, shooting another load of come up his stomach and chest as Gil continues to work him hard. 

He only forces himself to open his eyes when Gil's rhythm falters, his breath coming fast as uneven as he unloads his balls deep in Malcolm's body.

Gil is _breathtaking_ like this.

Malcolm would've sworn he was spent, with not a drop left to spill, but watching as Gil's eyes slam shut, watching his jaw drop as his muscles go taut and he shouts his release, has Malcolm's cock drooling on his stomach all over again, another shockwave of pleasure coursing through his body.

"Jesus," Gil huffs, folding in half, still buried inside of Malcolm. "That was…"

"Yeah," Malcolm agrees, sounding just as breathless.

He's in no hurry to move, and it doesn't seem as though Gil is either, so he threads his hands into Gil's hair and tugs him down kissing him softly until Gil works up the energy to pull back, just a little, smiling softly down at Malcolm before leaning in to pepper his face with tiny pecks that have Malcolm giggling beneath him.

It's only when Gil's cock softens enough to slip free that Gil finally rolls off, tugging Malcolm along with him so he's lying half on top his chest, still gloriously close together, just how Malcolm wants.

"You know we're gonna need to talk about this, right?" Gil's fingers land on the back of Malcolm's neck, trailing along his hairline and venturing further up to twine in his locks. "Figure out where we go from here?"

He does. And they do. But right now he wants to bask in the afterglow and enjoy Gil's body pressed against his.

"We have a couple hours in the car tomorrow," Malcolm suggests, hoping Gil will let things be for now.

He can feel Gil's gaze on him, searching, and he tilts his face up to meet the look head on, letting Gil see just how much this all means to him. Letting him know he's not going anywhere.

"Okay, kid." Gil strains his neck to press his lips to Malcolm's forehead. "We can discuss it tomorrow, but—"

Gil's eyebrows draw together, forming a crease between them that Malcolm wants to kiss away. He smiles when he realizes that he can.

He leans up and softly kisses the soft swath of skin, his heart swelling as the line fades away. "But what?"

"I just. I need you to know, I want this," Gil says quietly, holding Malcolm's gaze. "That I want _us_."

If Malcolm's heart swelled before, it damn near explodes now.

"I want that, too," he admits, then adds after a moment's hesitation, "More than anything."

"Okay," Gil says, as if there's nothing more to say. 

Maybe there isn't.

"We should get cleaned up," Malcolm suggests as the come on his torso begins to dry and stick them together. The idea doesn't actually bother him, but he doesn't want Gil to end up uncomfortable in the night.

Gil chuckles and they both roll off the bed, heading to the bathroom hand in hand, moving in tandem as they wrap Malcom's bandaged arm in plastic and tape from the hospital. Malcolm intends to step into the shower, but Gil guides him back out of the bathroom, over to the sunken jacuzzi tub in the room instead.

"Really?" Malcolm asks, his lips quirking up into a face splitting smile as Gil turns the taps and begins to fill the massive tub.

"Might as well take advantage of the amenities," Gil says as though it's a purely practical decision, though his smirk says it's far, far more than that.

It takes longer than Malcolm was expecting for the tub to fill, but as soon as it's ready, Gil steps in and offers Malcolm a hand, and soon Malcolm is laying back against Gil's chest, hot water swirling around them as the jets stream over their skin and offer a relaxing massage.

Malcolm's never really been one for bathing, but he decides that he could certainly make an exception for this. As a matter of fact, he's already making mental preparations for having one installed in the loft, if it's something Gil would be interested in.

Though they're mostly silent, they communicate in gentle touches and tender kisses, Gil's hands drifting over Malcolm's torso to clear the come from his skin as they laze about and enjoy the bath until the water turns tepid. Only then do they turn off the jets and give themselves a good washdown, soaping up and rinsing away the day with the water as it spirals down the drain.

It isn't long after that before they're dried off and in pyjamas, crawling into the king-sized bed together, taking up almost no space as they curl into one another.

It's funny, Malcolm thinks, just how seamlessly they fit into one another. There's no awkward shifting, no working out who goes where. They just lay down with Malcolm's head pillowed on Gil's chest and his sore arm resting on Gil's stomach, with Gil's arm wrapped snug around Malcolm, holding him close.

"I, uh. I should probably warn you—" Malcolm starts but a quick squeeze around his waist halts the warning.

"We'll deal with the nightmares together."

And that's that.

Surprisingly, it turns out to be a moot point. The nightmares that usually plague him decide to take the night off, and he manages a whopping six hours of sleep curled up in Gil's arms.

He's fairly certain it's the most uninterrupted sleep he's gotten in over three months.

Even when he wakes up, he's in no hurry to leave the comfort of Gil's embrace, luxuriating instead in the feel of Gil's strong arms around him and the steady rise and fall of his chest while he waits for him to wake up, vaguely aware of the faint sounds of the B&B coming to life.

"Mmm, good morning," Gil murmurs against his hair eventually.

"It is, isn't it?" Malcolm smiles up at him.

"Best morning I've had in years," Gil says back. "How's the arm feeling?"

There's a very real ache that's pulsing through the wound, but Malcolm doesn't care enough for it to bother him. Everything he needs, everything he's ever wanted, is here because of a shortage of rooms and the hole in his arm. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

"It's fine," Malcolm assures him.

"Mmhmm." Gil sounds like he's not buying it but doesn’t push, letting them lay there in peace and quiet for another half hour before they finally get up to get dressed for the day.

"I'm gonna call Deputy Miller, find how Officer Carey is doing," Gil says as he watches Malcolm slip a tie around his neck, shaking his head at the superfluous accessory. Malcolm just shrugs and smiles, knowing Gil finds it especially unnecessary since they're off the clock today. Gil has never understood his penchant for well-cut suits, and Malcolm suspects he never will.

He finishes knotting his tie as Gil sits on the couch and makes the call, greeting the deputy warmly when he answers the call. Once his tie is perfect, he grabs his phone and parks himself on the edge of the bed, using the few minutes he has to send a sizeable order of new, ergonomic chairs to the Sheriff's office as a token of his thanks.

He finishes just as Gil hangs up, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket as Gil does the same.

"Carey's gonna be fine," Gil says, relief is evident in his voice. "He's in the ICU, but they got him to surgery in time and the doctor says he should make a full recovery."

"I'm glad to hear it," Malcolm says. All of the men and women they've worked with over the last few days have been good people and he's grateful that they didn't lose one of their own in pursuit of their killer.

"Miller also said we're fine to fill out our statements when we get back to the city and send them in when they're ready," Gil says as he packs the last of their items into their bags and checks the room for any forgotten effects.

It's welcome news to Malcolm, who wants nothing more than to navigate this new terrain that they've found themselves on. He's more than happy to leave his statement for tomorrow and feels a building buoyancy at the thought of having Gil to himself for the day. He suddenly finds himself biting back a grin as they head to the door.

Gil, of course, insists on carrying Malcolm's bags. And while Malcolm rolls his eyes and pretends to be exasperated, he actually appreciates the concern. Besides, it's not like he wasn't aware of Gil's chivalrous streak from the years he watched him with Jackie.

When they get to the front desk, Vicky is there once again, blushing before Malcolm and Gil even make it to the counter. 

"Good morning gentlemen," Vicky says as she busies herself with a stack of papers that quite clearly doesn't need to be tidied. "I trust you had a nice evening?"

"Um, yes. Thank you," Malcolm says, trying to decipher what exactly has changed since their conversation yesterday. He hands the key over, sliding it across the desk as he adds, "We'll be checking out today, thank you."

"That's probably for the best," she mumbles, taking the key without ever making eye contact.

"Excuse me?" Gil asks, confusion colouring his tone.

When Gil speaks she finally looks up, eyeing him speculatively before blushing even deeper. "We, um, we had a few noise complaints from other guests last night."

Malcolm feels the flush from his hairline to his sternum, eyes going wide as embarrassment crashes into him like a tidal wave.

And Gil…

Gil just chuckles.

"Sorry about that," Gil smiles at the woman, all good humour and courtesy. "We'll be out of your hair now, though."

"Right, of course, no worries," Vicky smirks and taps a few keys on the computer, presumably checking them out and printing off a new receipt. "Um, if you're not in a hurry to get out of town, I really would recommend checking out the Festival. It can be quite romantic."

"Oh my God," Malcolm murmurs, slapping a hand over his eyes to try and hide from the mortification that seems so determined to find him.

"You know, I think that's a great idea," Gil laughs, sliding his hand to the back of Malcolm's neck and giving a comforting squeeze. "Thank you for the recommendation, Vicky."

"Of course," she says, handing over their receipt.

At the same time, Malcolm drops his hand and turns to Gil, "Really?"

"If you're up for it," Gil says, his gaze dropping to Malcolm's arm.

"Uh. Yeah. I'm good. That'd be...nice," Malcolm smiles before turning to Vicky. "Thank you for everything. We truly had a wonderful time."

She doesn't say it, but Malcolm can practically _hear_ the, "I'll bet you did," in her arched eyebrow and knowing smirk. "Drive safe, Mr. Bright, Mr. Arroyo," Vicky says instead.

Gil leads the way to the car loading their bags and pulling Malcolm in for a quick kiss before they get in the car.

"Did you really want to check out the Food & Wine Festival?" Malcolm asks as he struggles with his seat belt, unintentionally jerking his wounded arm as he tries to reach for it.

Gil is leaning across him before he's even unclenched his jaw, reaching for the belt and pulling it across his chest, buckling it in with a kiss to his temple.

"I could've done that," Malcolm insists.

"I know," Gil says, the truth of the words shining in his eyes. "But I wanted to. And if you're up for it, I'd like to take you to the Festival. Show you a proper first date."

That buoyancy from earlier swells and grows, filling Malcolm's entire being as he realizes that there are a lot of firsts that they're about to experience together, and a first date in Lake George sounds like the best start he could ever hope for.

"That sounds perfect," he says as he reaches for Gil's hand, giving it a squeeze, marvelling at the fact that he gets to do things like that now.

And as they wander the festival, tasting bits of this and sips of that — as Gil leans down to kiss him and hints of blackcurrant and oak from the cabernet sauvignon he'd just tasted spreads from Gil's lips to his — Malcolm slips his hand into Gil's and decides that he could get used to doing things like this. 

Things like walking hand-in-hand through the crowds that mill about.

Things like stopping to kiss in the shade of the nearby trees.

Things like spending forever with the man he loves.


End file.
